


Releasing

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Strength [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Interspecies, M/M, Multiple Partners, Romance, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By DiamondSam reacts to the knowledge that Frodo has been with Aragorn. Final chapter of "Strength", prologue to "Loyalty" in the "Of Hobbits and Men" series.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Frodo Baggins, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Strength [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819915
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	Releasing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tolkien though I doubt he ever saw Sam this way; I do it for love, not money.  
> Story Notes: This is the beginning of Sam's tale in this, which continues to its ending in "Loyalty."  
> Notes: Thanks to Baranduin's beta-ing!

An Epilogue/Prologue . . .

Night fell, and a cold autumn wind blew through the vale where Elrond's house stood, sending showers of golden leaves rustling against the window of Sam's room as he sat wrapped in a blanket, a candle now burned low next to him on the bench. His eyes were fixed on the starry skies above the canopies of the trees, but his ears were attuned to the hallway outside his door, listening for the slightest noise. He caught snatches of song still taking place at the Hall of Fire, but not the sound he was listening for--the sound of hobbit feet, or a door opening and closing to the chamber next door. All was silent in the guest wing. He drew a shuddering breath and expelled it, willing the tears to stay away.

Well, he was as great a fool as Sandyman had ever called him. "Don't go mixin' with your betters," his Gaffer always said, and of course he was right. What a mess he had made, breaking his promise to himself that he'd never reveal his feelings. He'd just been so happy to see Mr. Frodo up and well again, after so very nearly losing him.

It had happened after the Council, after he stood up from sitting on the ground in the corner, after he had declared that Frodo wasn't going anywhere without him. Following the words of praise, and the blessings, and the well wishes of all the great people gathered there, Frodo and he had walked the grounds, the weight of their promises suddenly falling heavily upon them. After so long a time listening to different tales in different accents of faraway places--some of them thick and difficult to decipher, like the Gondorian--Sam had felt nothing so much as numb. And weary. And desperate to tell Frodo why it was he must come, what it was that had made him jump up and interrupt like that.

"I love you, sir," he said--just like that. Blurted out with no preamble. Years of pent up emotions, so many nights of dreaming . . . and it had come out as easily as a breath of air.

"I love you too, Sam," Frodo said, then realizing the _manner_ in which he meant it, stopped to look deeply into his eyes, so deep until Sam was sure his soul must be leaking out his ears. "Why Sam--I never knew . . ."

And Sam started to cry, for he had been so certain Frodo would laugh, or push him away, but instead he found love there in those bright eyes, and profound respect, and companionship. It was only a second later that those eyes closed, that fair face leaned in, and Sam felt a rush through him, knowing what was coming next. When they kissed, he knew things were complete, as they had never been before or would likely be again; he almost forgot where he stopped and Frodo started. Frodo gave himself to him utterly, letting him plunge his tongue in deep, their fingers entwined in each others hair, their bodies pressed together from heart to toe.

Sam thought Frodo's mouth was sweeter than strawberries grown in his garden to perfection. But all too soon the kiss was over. A troubled look came over his master's face.

"What is the matter, sir? Should I not have said anything?" Frodo had returned the kiss fervently; it seemed he _did_ feel something, Sam thought in a feverish panic, his body aching for the return of his touch. Had he judged wrong? But no, Frodo was shaking his head, his fingertips tenderly brushing at Sam's jaw, his cheek, smiling at him fondly. But it wasn't right. It wasn't the heart melting look of joy that had crossed his face a moment before; it was a look of compassion, of pity almost. The moment had been lost. Sam wasn't certain just what had happened, but he suspected he knew the cause. Frodo had just closed himself off. Just like a Baggins.

"No, Sam, dear spirits above, I'm glad you spoke up. It wasn't right for you to suffer in secret. I just need some time, that's all, to . . ." He smiled wistfully. "Well, to open up. It's hard for me, you have to realize. I'm a little bit afraid of love. It's too easy to be hurt by it."

Now that was a funny thing for Mr. Frodo to say, but suddenly Sam remembered the day Bilbo left and the look on Frodo's face at peering into his empty room . . . and a comment he made about losing another guardian . . . well of course. It all made perfect sense, come to think of it. What a foolery to have not thought of it before. His parents' drowning, Mr. Bilbo's leaving--huh, probably even the growing bond between his once close cousin Merry and young Pippin . . . Mr. Frodo was a bud who would need a bit of coaxing to bloom. Well, he was a patient hobbit. He could wait.

At least, that was what he had thought was the problem at the time. Now he just wasn't sure. It could be the Ring Frodo was struggling with, afraid to open himself up to anything or anyone lest it weaken him against his burden. Or perhaps he was trying to protect Sam--that was certainly a possibility. But Sam did not want protection. He wanted to be protector, to share with Frodo the pain that was so evident in him. Whatever he had was Frodo's; he had only to ask.

And therein lay the rub. Mr. Frodo would not ask, and Sam couldn't force him. They had not made love yet the way Sam knew lads could--not that he had personal experience, but being next to youngest, one heard things. He'd also fooled around a little with the Cotton boys in his tweens. Frodo was more experienced--Sam was certain of that by the way he kissed, but he hadn't asked how. He was afraid to know. Frodo _had_ made love to him with mouth and with hands, and it had been glorious, but still, not quite right, not perfect as he knew it _could_ be between them. If Frodo would only let down his barriers and let Sam in . . .

Sam choked on a sob, then suddenly his ears perked at a sound--just the softest patter, outside his room.

He jumped up from the bench at a soft knock on his door. Grabbing up the candle, he flew to the door and opened it to find Frodo, slightly mussed, flushing, one hand raised hesitantly to knock again . . . and smelling of another.

Frodo swallowed, not meeting his eyes, and Sam saw he had missed a few buttons on his weskit, and his hair was matted with sleep, his lips still red from kissing. Sam willed away the hurt and jealousy but it burned in his gut nonetheless, roiling about until he feared he might be sick. Silence stretched between them.

"I thought you might stay up," Frodo said at last, in a soft sad voice, but not sad with regret--more like pity. Sam resisted the urge to slam the door in his face and block out that pity; it was like a festering wound. Instead, he lowered his head so Frodo wouldn't see the impotent rage he felt. None of this was Frodo's fault, after all. It was purely his, for revealing himself as he shouldn't have, trying to make something happen with someone he never should have aspired to in the first place. He forced himself to be calm, to lock away the hurt.

Sam was amazed his voice was steady. "He gave you what you needed?" He dared to raise his eyes a moment to see Frodo's reaction. A slight nod, and his eyes--fulfillment. Peace. Happiness. The jealousy twisted in Sam's gut.

"May I come in? I know you're upset . . ." Oh there was that pity again, dreadful, dreadful pity! It was getting harder to hold back the tears, and Sam had never been much of one for holding back his feelings anyhow. He nodded glumly, standing aside so that Frodo could enter.

Frodo took a seat on the bench where Sam had spent most of the night, immediately taking notice of the puddle of wax left from the candle; absently he set to scratching it away from the smooth surface of the wood, his shoulders hunched, trying to be all but invisible. Sam closed the door as quietly as possible lest it awaken Merry and Pip across the hall and stood, uncertain what to do next. He was shivering. He pulled the blanket covering his shoulders around tighter and asked, "Are you warm enough in here, master? With your wound you shouldn't--"

"I'm almost too warm, actually. But you, you look a sight, dear Sam. Please, sit with me. I want to try and explain." Frodo's gaze was still intent on the wax; the blob looked a bit like a ring now, as he smoothed away the edges . . .

"There's nothing to explain. You needed Aragorn, and he needed you too, apparently. I'm just sorry I opened my big mouth and made you worry for me." That wasn't entirely true, Sam realized. In a way he was glad he had revealed himself now, so that Frodo was . . . hurt? Torn? No. He couldn't want that, could he? He was supposed to only want what was best for Frodo. Yet somehow the pain now on Frodo's face warmed him. Oh dear. What a monster he was becoming.

"You're right, just as you always are, but that's not all. It is done. We both talked afterwards, and agreed: only once. It was all I needed--I just needed to feel my strength, to find the warrior within me. I'm ready now, Sam. Ready to face my quest, ready to give to you. I'm here now, aren't I? I didn't want to sleep in his arms, you know--it just didn't feel right. I want to be in _your_ arms. You're my soul, Sam. He might have been my strength, but you're my soul. I need that even more." Frodo looked up, and even by candlelight the power of his eyes was unquenchable; it burned through any and all of Sam's defenses, searing his chest, inflaming the ball of hurt there . . . Sam blinked, but it was useless. Tears began streaming down his face.

He wasn't ready to forgive Frodo, but Frodo gave him little choice; in seconds he had crossed the room and flung his arms around Sam, and in the power of that grip Sam could not hold on to his anger. He loved Frodo too much; to be held so in his arms was breathless joy. After all, Sam thought to himself, he chose _me_ ; he made a trial with Strider and came back to _me_. That had to mean something; it meant everything, in fact.

"D-do you love me?" Sam asked in a weak whisper, needing to hear it spoken, see it in Frodo's eyes.

Frodo smiled, and now there was no pity, only love--cherishing love. The ball of pain loosened and melted away, and now Sam was crying for happiness. "Yes, Sam. I really do love you. I want to be with you, and only you." For emphasis, Frodo kissed each of Sam's cheeks, along the trails of the tears, removing them.

"But Strider--" He hadn't mistaken that look of fulfillment, of sated happiness when he opened the door. _He_ hadn't been the one to give that to Frodo, so how could he possibly keep him happy?

"Aragorn loves Arwen. But he knows Elrond frowns upon the match; discourages them from even talking until he claims his birthright and becomes King. Aragorn keeps his distance to spare them both pain, but I don't think it's working. I tried to convince him to talk to her. I hope he does, for both their sakes. He's loved and been denied her for a very long time. I saw his love and that's when I knew it for certain. I truly love you, Sam. I was thinking you didn't understand me, but I've changed my mind. I think you understand me all too well. I promise not to do this to you again." Holding Sam's face in his hands, Frodo tilted it and then began kissing him on the lips, forestalling any further protests.

Two more tears leaked out the corner of Sam's eyes, and he really didn't know what kind of tears they were; he was a mixed up mess of feelings now. All he knew was that he loved Frodo, needed him desperately. Perhaps tomorrow he would sort out his worries. It was late; the dawn lay only a few hours away. And Frodo's mouth was insistent, opening him, ravaging him until the pleasure was almost pain and he was trembling with desire. This was what he had wanted all along. Frodo was giving his all now; no holding back.

"Will you make love to me, Sam? We can do what I know you've wanted to do. I want to lie beneath you and feel you inside." Oh Sam couldn't help the moan that image brought, and his body was rapidly responding to Frodo's hands as they roamed, the blanket falling off his shoulders to puddle at their feet. He wasn't feeling cold any longer.

Very well. Take what was offered and be grateful. He hardly had the right to demand any kind of vows or loyalty from Frodo anyway. He was the servant, and would always be. And this was more, so much more than he had ever dreamt possible when they left Bag End on the way to see those wonderful elves that held so much meaning for his dear master, live inside those romantic tales. Perhaps it wasn't exactly perfect, but he should be happy with it. He _would_ be happy.

At least tonight.

"Oh Mr. Frodo, it scares me, how much I love you. Anything you ask, it's yours. Always," he mumbled between kisses, then they were fumbling their way to the bed.

* * *

End of "Strength". Next Tale: "Loyalty".


End file.
